Angloland

I was going to start by making a Royal Family joke, but it would have been too easy.

I'm starting to settle into the groove of living on an island. I listened to an angry Jamaican shout about the wrongs of the world from a free speech corner in Hyde Park. He said lots of things with which I agreed, reminded us all of Bin Laden's love of soccer, and pointed me out as one of the 13% of Americans with passports. This last bit worried me, as I had always believed Jamaica to be part of the United States, as governed by John Candy and chancellorred by Doug E. Doug. The orator then alerted me that I was in England, man, which is featured in everyone's favorite movie, Eurotrip. I thought about how hilarious that film was, finally deciphered that my confusion stemmed from the forgotten fact that there is more than one island nation, and I went on my way.

The only chancellor ever to be a panelist on Figure It Out.

I've watched soccer, or footy, or hexago-sport, or whatever it's called, quite a bit so far. Tonight the dorm's Sky TV room saw it's largest gathering yet for an Arsenal Champions League tie. Some Frenchies cheered on Thierry Henry (just like the terrorists - you did click on that link, right?! angry face) and I generally agreed. My focus, however, was not one hundred percent on the game, I admit, as I was attempting to appease the good doctor of Brain Age for my lax attendance as of late. He told me I hadn't showed in four days, and that I was quite a little rascal for that. He's right. I may even be a rapscallion.

Three Christians have approached me on campus so far in attempts to lure me to their Bible studies. Do I look that vulnerable? I may have to get into that knife fight sooner than I'd planned. In any case, here is how each conversation "went down," towards Hell:

1.
Solicitor: Hi. Can I talk to you for a second?
Me: You can, and you already did!

2.
Solicitor: Hello. May I speak with you for a second?
Me: If only the Crusades had featured this genial approach, I might have converted. Alas, that was 800 years ago, and since then I've built a thriving pita business.

3.
Solicitor: Greetings. May I talk with you for a second?
Me: You're just the same guy in a mustache. And it's the same mustache you had the first two times.

I attended an extensive exhibition on the sculptor Rodin today. It is being held at the Royal Academy and being sponsored by some insurance group named Ernst and Young. I got to meet one of their actuaries. He kept telling me that all of the sculptures were weightless relative to the 30-pound weight in my basement. I told him that such an idea defied physics. He said that physics was a lie perpetrated by actuaries who use it to their advantage. I told him that it was ironic he was now denying physics for his own advantage. He ran away.

Not Rodin's The Thinker, so get over it.

I might do something completely un-Wisconsin this weekend and go to a cheese festival. I learned about it in what is seriously the greatest newspaper I've ever purchased - The Independent. I'd read it online before, but in print it's so much better to snort cocaine off of.

According to The Independent, "American cinema audiences can be truly scary gatherings, but it seems unlikely all those ticket holders are psychopathic." Jackass (no italics) may prove even these lowered expectations wrong. As an expat who can still faintly imagine the goings-on of American society, I beg of you not to see this movie. Watch some kid ignite his butt on YouTube instead, consider the situation, and realize it isn't funny. Please.

Tonight I sat at a dinner table with 2 Grecians, a German, an Argentinian, and a Portugalman. I was going to make a joke about that ethnic combination, but it would have been too hard.